


Wicked Bloom

by Kangofu_CB



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Exploring the past, semi canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 22:10:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10545170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangofu_CB/pseuds/Kangofu_CB
Summary: Call it a... character study.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GoodIdeaAtTheTime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodIdeaAtTheTime/gifts).



> Gift fic I wrote in response to a Tumblr writing prompt.

“He grew like a wicked bloom, sweet smelling and colorful and, above all, poisonous.”

 

 

He ran.

 

Run, hide, struggle, survive – it was a dance with which he was intimately familiar.

 

Bare feet slapping on hot cement, chest burning as he forced more air into his lungs. He ducked around a corner, listening for pursuit. He could hear shouting in the distance, but nothing too close. Cautiously, he moved out of the alleyway, intent on finding a safe place for the night. He tucked his loot away carefully in folds and pockets – it would be a shame to lose what he had worked so hard to gain. Ill-gotten though they might be, the fruit and bread should be enough to get him through a few days, if he could find a bolthole.

 

His mind edged back to that short time when food and shelter had been _given_ to him, but he violently redirected his thoughts. _They’re gone and they aint comin’ back. Get it together before you get –_

A hard grip on his arm, hands yanking his hair. “Hey! Geroff me!” He twisted and turned, feet and hands lashing out violently as he struggled to get away.

 

“Fuck! The little shit BIT me!” More hands grabbing, cloth tearing, he struggled harder. A well-placed elbow, hard strike with the heel and then – yes! Freedom!

 

He ran.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He slunk carefully around the corner, avoiding both security cameras and the human eye, towards his goal. He needed supplies, and he knew they were here.

 

The security system was a joke. A well-placed magnet, two wires snipped, and he was in.

 

Not that there were many places he couldn’t break in to, if he wanted.

 

Still, stealing from the Alliance was a special pleasure; he couldn’t wait to see what fancy new playthings he’d be able to acquire tonight.

 

He tugged his cap down a little lower, the edge of a grin curling his lips, as he made his way towards the armory.

 

Around a corner, down the hall. Another steel door. There was a guard, and then there wasn’t.

 

Silence followed in his wake.

 

* * *

 

 

He saw an opportunity and he took it, like he had taken everything he’d ever needed. Nothing had ever been given to him. Except that once, but he no longer thought about those days. Before then and since, he’d had to take, and he’d gotten good at it.

 

A stealthy run across the tarmac.

 

A quick slide through a forgotten door, thoughtfully left ajar.

 

A security system that gave him no more trouble than a wispy spider’s web in a strong breeze.

 

Cold. Dark. Silent.

 

He hid in the storage area, skimming supplies as he needed, waiting for the ship to make berth. He knew he could slip out and get lost in a crowd, if only the damned thing ever _landed_ anywhere.

 

He dozed, the days of creeping, hiding, being on high alert dragging him down into unconsciousness.

 

He jolted awake, hands dragging him out from behind the crates he’d been using as cover.

 

“What the fuck?!” He lashed out, fought back, resisted. Skills born of hard street living, refined somewhat by a rebel gang’s tender mercies, were utilized to their full extent. Not that he considered what he would do if he got away – after all, there was nowhere to go – but a lifetime of the struggle would not allow him to go down without a fight. He heard bones snap, knew they were not his own.

 

“I think he broke my fuckin’ arm!”

 

“How the hell did he even get in here?”

 

“Grab him you assholes, he’s just a kid!”

 

“Let me go!” It took six of them to subdue him. He reflected on that, more than a little smug, as he awaited his fate. If they were going to space him, at least they’d paid for it first.

 

* * *

 

 

Professor G eyed the boy they brought to him. A stowaway, apparently. Impressive, considering he’d gone undetected since they left L2, which had been more than ten days ago. Howard said they’d suspected an extra passenger a few days prior, but had been unable to find a trace of him.

 

Interesting.

 

He’d only been caught because he’d fallen asleep, probably more deeply than he’d intended, and one of the engineers had been looking for a quiet place to catch a smoke.

 

G hadn’t even been sure he was a boy, at first, with that ridiculous length of braided hair and wide, expressive eyes. He was, frankly, a beautiful child, though he suspected the boy wouldn’t thank him for the compliment. There was an edge to him that spoke of agony and death.

 

“How did you get in here?” G asked, genuinely curious. The security system was one of his own, and while not his best, should have been more than sufficient to keep out the riff-raff of an L2 spaceport. “I assume you joined us on L2.”

 

The boy shrugged one shoulder, the ghost of a smile on his face. “Trade secret. Ain’t much as can keep me out, if I want to get in someplace.”

 

G frowned, thoughtfully. The boy had a valuable skill set, unusual for one so young, but in the proper application…

 

“What’s your name?”

 

The boy lifted his face fully for the first time, flashing blue eyes set in a pale face. His smile took on a gleeful cast, but it wasn’t cheerful. Quite the opposite, in fact.

 

“I’m the God of Death.”

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in this fandom in a long, loooooong time, and I've never actually posted anything I've written for anyone else to read.
> 
>  
> 
> So... be gentle? I hope it was at least interesting.


End file.
